


He's Not Dumb

by BourbonOnTheRocks



Series: In The Eerie Light Of My Sleepless Nights [2]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Even fanfic writers didn't push it THAT far, F/M, Gun play, Like seriously who kisses a bullet?, Rio is a dramatic bitch, S3 spoiler, The water drinking is a metaphor for... you know... the real horror in 3.03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23004004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BourbonOnTheRocks/pseuds/BourbonOnTheRocks
Summary: "He's not dumb," Rhea says, and Beth's eyes flutter.ORJust another one of my cathartic post-watching one-shots...
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: In The Eerie Light Of My Sleepless Nights [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653067
Comments: 34
Kudos: 101





	He's Not Dumb

**Author's Note:**

> _"I can't wait to see what big reve— Wait. Oh no, I'm not gonna li— Ewwww, what the f— Ah okay that's better, I'm starting to like thi— Wait, no, again?— Phewww, thank God. I'm totally having a stroke now, but I guess I kinda... liked this episode?"_
> 
> Raise your hand if your watching of 3.03 sounded like that. Mine did. 🙋

"He's not dumb," Rhea says, and Beth's eyes flutter.

Rhea's right, she knows it. It's just a matter of time, and it won't be three to four months. He'll probably figure it out sooner.

Hence she's not surprised when she comes home in the afternoon a couple of weeks later, the gift shop having closed earlier for corporate inventory. Dean's not back from work yet, the kids are at various extracurricular activities, and she's alone in there, but she just _knows_. Maybe it's a fragile hint of his cologne lingering in the air, maybe it's just a vibe. She doesn't see him, as she walks across the living room, but she has that feeling, that weird kind of premonition.

"You really thought I was that dumb, huh?"

The voice is raspy in her back and she stops dead. She doesn't startle though, doesn't lose her breath. She slowly turns to face him, his tall silhouette standing by the window with the vague remain of a smirk lingering on his lips. His expression turns as dark as his outfit when he sees her face, and for one second she's distracted by the fact that he's still wearing his beanie _inside the house_ which is actually quite ridiculous. But it also says that he intends this to be quick.

She blinks.

"I panicked," she shrugs.

_I'm pregnant_

The only thing she'd found to avoid the imminent death he was sadistically pouring all over her with his sweetest voice, a firm grip on her arm balancing the finger that he had softly, so softly, brushed her cheek with to push a lock of curly hair behind. He would have done it, she knows. The killing part. Although she's never seen herself as murder-in-a-dark-alley material, it was actually supposed to be her fate that night. Minus a couple of sordid details, probably. Dramatic as Rio is, he would have added some context, put on a whole show of symbols and allusions.

But the point is, she panicked. And then she did what she does best, she covered the lie with a bigger one, and then another, dragging other people in her wake, inflicting herself inhuman amounts of water drinking and surviving at least a dozen of heart attacks during that endless gyno consultation. And all of it for nothing. Except maybe for his amusement, for the predatory look in his eyes when he'd called her _Honey_ , fingers threateningly pressing bruises in her flesh when he pretended to gently cradle her knee. She can't think of a moment she's ever been _less_ craving his touch.

"Wasn't your smartest move, ma," he replies, emphasizing the endearment with a lazy irony.

_It just puts off what's gonna come anyway. And then you gotta wait for it. That's just way worse_

His hand goes for the back of his jeans with a whole attitude screaming his longing for efficiency, and suddenly she's scared like she's never been in her life. She doesn't want to die, and even if it's better than nothing, the way she's bought herself some time to tell the girls about it, say some sort of goodbye, it's still too soon. Always will be.

He arms the gun, walks towards her in a nonchalant fashion and she cannot believe that he is _this_ casual, that he will not even give her that. She's not asking for sadness nor compassion, but at least a bit of nervousness would be appreciated.

"Please," she whispers, "I have children!"

She's absolutely begging him, and she knows that he couldn't be happier about it, that her surrender is literal music to his ears, that he would bathe in her defeat if he could, but she doesn't care anymore. If there is anything she can say to soften the cold anger in his eyes, if she has any chance to save this life, her life, now is her moment.

He bits his lower lip, pretending to weigh her point before he rejects her appeal with a dismissive shake of his head, "That card's been kinda worn out, don't you think?"

He steps forward until he faces her, careful not to touch her although he's standing barely a few inches away. With a concentrated expression on his face, he uses the barrel of the gun to trace a line from her temple to her jaw, pushing her hair out of the way, and she just can't hold anymore the single tear escaping her eye and running down her cheek.

"I don't..." she starts but then she can't.

She knows that she's going to choke on her own sobs if she speaks further. His expression is almost gentle as he attentively peers at her emotional response, with something... curious in his eyes, as if conducting an experiment of some kind, eager to gather some results about people's reaction to death.

A part of her wants to close her eyes and just wait for it. Bearing his sight is just too much, she's already struggling with the smell of his cologne and she barely stands it, so... But no. She wants to see it coming, that's the last stronghold of pride and dignity that she's left with.

He doesn't say anything, still playing with the gun and gently stroking her face with cold metal, and she breathes deeply. She can't take the wait anymore, and she's internally cursing his pathological need for dramatic power demonstrations when he speaks.

"Just give me one reason not to, Elizabeth," he dreamily says.

She stares at him, speechless. She knows that nothing she could say would change his mind. Being a mother of four is already her only trump card. Sort of. And it didn't work. He has absolutely no reason to spare her. Except, maybe, the one behind the fact that he's asking her for one. For the first time her voice is vaguely steady when she answers.

"You don't want to," she softly says, and it's not a question nor an epiphany. It's a statement.

She can't believe her own foolishness, though. She's only got one shot at this, and the only thing she comes up with is terribly weak. But it makes complete sense. He didn't ask Turner for a reason not to kill him. He just sent someone. He's never been _that_ slow at ending someone's life as he is with her, never shown so much _commitment_ to repeating his promises for death instead of actually giving it. And it's not him, it's not what he does, at least most of the time. She doesn't know much about him but that's probably the only thing that she's pretty sure of.

A crease appears between his eyebrows as he frowns hard, looking almost offended by her answer, and she thinks that maybe she's guessed wrong when he presses the barrel under her jaw, slightly pushing so she appears to be raising her chin at him. She won't close her eyes this time either, though.

She's still staring deeply into his eyes when he pulls the trigger.

The instant is deafening because the sound isn't. If anything, it's deafeningly weak. The clicking resonance of an empty chamber. Beth blinks, quite unable to fathom... whatever the fuck this is. Rio lowers the gun, his other hand coming up to let two fingers softly slide along her temple, pushing her hair away, his touch disturbingly gentle for someone who's just pulled a trigger against her head like ten seconds ago.

"No," he whispers, and it sounds like a confession. A defeat against himself.

There is a hint of tenderness cracking through the angry wall of his hatred, but she knows that she can't count on it. Not today, at least. Probably not ever. He hates her, she can read it in his eyes, and he will never forgive her. And he hates himself even more for not being able to rip that bandage and move on.

And she'll just have to live with it.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I guess it's official. Good Girls writers are literally trying to kill us. 🙈🙈


End file.
